Brian Hendrickson Normal Brian Hendrickson 4 27 2002-11-08T01:02:00Z 2003-09-08T04:52:00Z 8 5292 30167 251 60 37047 9.3821
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. "Rumpole Of The Bailey" and all related characters were created by John Mortimer. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This chapter was written shortly after the death of one of my favorite actors, Leo McKern. It is a tribute to him, as well as to his most famous character, "Rumpole Of The Bailey", a crusty old British barrister. As always, thanks to Haggridd for his most excellent Beta skills and steadfast moral support.
CHILD'S PLAY
Chapter Six
"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."
-Exodus 2:17
**********
"FREE HARRY POTTER!" chanted the crowd that surrounded Newgate Prison. One couldn't help but be reminded of the French peasantry preparing to storm the Bastille. There were all the usual side shows-Communists, tree huggers, religious zealots, Goths, Satanists and Wiccans ("Witch Wannabees", as Molly always referred to them)-but the vast majority of the faces in the throng belonged to children. The tabloids had all gone gleefully mad with stories about Devil worship and orgies ("Heaven knows what kind of sexual mischief has been going on in the Potter household!" cried The Tattler) in the wake of Harry's arrest for practicing witchcraft, yet through it all, the children steadfastly refused to abandon their hero.
"Mrs. Potter?" A familiar looking little girl of about four or five had somehow managed to sneak past the police line that surrounded the prison and inside the gate. Hermione knelt down to speak to her. "When Harry did his show at my cousin's birthday party, he gave me this." The little girl showed her the tiny medallion with a lion rampant engraved on it. "He said it would protect me-and it has! I thought Harry should have something to protect him too." She reached into her pocket. This "necklace" was strung with macaroni noodles and the "medallion" was the top of a frozen orange juice can, to which the child had glued a piece of construction paper. A crude lion had been drawn in blue crayon surrounded by the words, "I Luve You, Hary Potter".
"Thank you, darling," Hermione wiped a tear from her eye and gave the girl a kiss on the cheek. "I know Harry will treasure this always."
"Let the little children come unto me, and do not hinder them..."[1] came a gravelly voice from the gate.
Alec Callender, Harry's solicitor, a middle aged Scottish teddy bear with bald head and a warm laugh, introduced the squat, round owner of the voice. "Mrs. Potter, this is Harry's barrister, Mr. Horace Rumpole."
The man extended a meaty hand. "Renowned in song and legend for unraveling the Penge Bungalow Murders-"
"Without a leader," Mr. Callender added before Rumpole could do it himself.
"-the Great Brighton Benefit Club Forgery-"
"-due to his encyclopedic knowledge of typewriters."
"-and the Brick Lane Billiard Hall Murders-"
"-owing to his vast experience with bloodstains."
Your material's getting stale Rumpole old darling, he thought to himself. Old "By The Numbers" Callender must know this speech backwards and forwards by now.
"Just teasing, Rumpole." Mr. Callender said, "I've already told Mrs. Potter that you are the one barrister in all England who can help Harry beat this ridiculous charge. I always say, if you can't get Perry Mason, call Horace Rumpole!"
Callender was a decent sort, but his fascination with the fictional Perry Mason sometimes bordered on the obsessive. He'd even mentioned going onto that new-fangled "internet" thingy to publish stories about his hero. A strange way to occupy one's idle hours, the old barrister thought.
Horace Rumpole had been a thorn in the side of prosecuting counsels 'round the Old Bailey for nearly half a century. His round face, bulbous nose and bushy mustache gave him a passing resemblance to Harry's Uncle Vernon, but that was where the resemblance ended. Where Uncle Vernon's visage seemed sculpted into a permanent scowl, old Rumpole always seemed to have a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Around the Inns of Court he was well known for his fondness for great literature, bad claret ("plonk" as he called his favorite tipple), and an almost compulsive need to question authority. He had come highly recommended by Mrs. Marjorie Timson, a neighbor of Molly's and member of the notorious family of inveterate, though strangely honorable, thieves. (They would steal but they would never even think of using weapons or violence in the commission of a crime.) To hear Rumpole tell it, it was the Timson family that largely kept him in business.
Harry Potter proudly displayed the medallion he had been given around his neck as he paced the visitors' room.
"Last time I checked my watch, Mr. Rumpole, it was the twenty-first century!"
"The time-pieces in the prosecutor's office are running a bit slow, my boy." Hermione's disapproving stares were wasted as Rumpole puffed away on the dog-end of his cheroot. "Apparently, by their reckoning, it's only a quarter past the Spanish Inquisition."
With a slight grunt, Hermione adjusted her position in the chair. It seemed as though the baby was deliberately squatting on her kidneys that day. "Even if Harry were practicing witchcraft," (Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes), "The Witchcraft Act of 1735 was repealed in 1951. In fact," Hermione continued, never for a moment thinking that her audience wouldn't be fascinated by her vast knowledge of the subject, "the very last witch trial ever held in England was in 1944. A certain Helen Duncan was put on trial because she was alleged to have revealed military secrets in one of her séances. It seems that the War Department-"
"Darling," Harry put a hand on her arm, "You're doing your 'Mr. Spock' impression again."
"The point is, Mr. Rumpole," Hermione blushed, "What then, precisely, is Harry doing in jail?"
"It was a feat of legerdemain worthy of your husband, Mrs. Potter. It seems our esteemed Member of Parliament, the Hon. Lucius Malfoy, somehow managed to attach an amendment to that well-known cure for chronic insomnia known as the Trade Equity Bill."
"And no one tried to stop it." Hermione said, incredulous.
"You obviously haven't kept up with the political news, my dear. Over the past year or so (beginning, coincidentally, around the time the Honorable Mr. Malfoy was elected to Parliament), several key members found themselves embroiled in scandal and were forced to resign. The bad luck seemed to be distributed equally between Tories and Labour-even a few of the smaller fringe parties did not escape damage. The only ones who emerged unscathed were Lucius Malfoy's Traditional Values Party. Since neither Labour nor the Conservatives now had enough seats in the Commons for a clear majority, one or the other of them would have to enter into a coalition with Malfoy in order to form a new government."
"But only if he got something in return." Harry sighed.
"The New Witchcraft Act," Rumpole nodded. "The Tories' little present, ostensibly to help calm the growing anti-witchcraft hysteria gripping the country."
"Hysteria which Malfoy himself helped to create in the first place." noted Harry.
"It saves no end of time and trouble if you can provide both the problem and the solution." Rumpole took another puff of his cigar. "Unfortunately, my dear Harry, we have stepped 'Through the Looking Glass'. Black is white, wrong is right and all persons more than a mile high will be asked to leave the courtroom. It appears the Honorable Mr. Malfoy is convinced that several of your best tricks could only be accomplished by supernatural means."
Hermione grinned, but not from any amusement. There was no humor in her expression. She bared her teeth in a way that seemed positively feral, a predator's rictus. Stripping young Dennis and those other swine of their magic was clearly 'too little and too late'. The damage had already been done. Lucius has already managed to grab enough political power so that he can manipulate the system even without magic! I knew I should have taken care of Malfoy Senior personally-not just his damned whelp! Now we can't even touch the old bastard!
Trying to sound appropriately outraged, all Hermione managed to say aloud was "The man's mad!"
"Mad he may be," observed Mr. Callender, taking her to mean only that it was insanity ever to accuse Harry of using witchcraft, "But he certainly knows how to win friends and influence people. I still don't understand how he got the Home Secretary to go along with this nonsense. The public certainly doesn't support it."
Hermione did nothing to correct his impression.
"If rumor is to be believed," Rumpole said, "Mr. Malfoy's greatest strength may lie in his ability to discover a man's 'Achilles heel'-which does not bode well for the defense, I'm afraid. According to my ever-efficient clerk, Henry, we've drawn the Honorable Mr. Justice Sir Guthrie Featherstone, Q.C., for the trial."
"Is that a problem?" asked Hermione.
"Don't misunderstand, my dear," Rumpole explained, "Mr. Justice Featherstone is the soul of reason and impartiality-used to be my Head of Chambers before he made the Queen's List-but I'm not exactly telling tales out of school when I say that on occasion, poor old Guthrie has been known to chafe at the bonds of Holy Matrimony. The scuttlebutt 'round the Old Bailey is that the last time was with a twenty-three year old dental hygienist from Kensington. Save for this tragic flaw, our Guthrie should have been Prime Minister ages ago-at least according to the redoubtable Lady Featherstone."
"And you think Malfoy might try to blackmail him into railroading Harry?" Hermione asked.
"A sad comment on our times, my dear-but a definite possibility."
"I'm already working on our appeal to the House of Lords, if it comes to that," Mr. Callender told them.
Rumpole chuckled, remembering how fifty-something widower Alec Callender had his own share of scandal when he outraged the legal profession (and his grown children) by marrying a vivacious, redheaded, twenty-something P.E. teacher. Not a proper mistress, mind you. Alec actually had the temerity to fall head-over-heels in love with the girl, and she with him. At last report they had bought themselves a cozy little love nest in Pinner, Middlesex, and were happily raising an adorable little redhead they had named "Fleur". Cupid certainly has been collecting his share of overtime of late, Rumpole mused.
"I understand the trial is already the number one topic of comedians on both sides of the Atlantic." Mrs. Potter sighed. They're all wondering when we'll pull out the dunking stools or start burning people at the stake. Malfoy is turning Britain into a laughing stock,"
"Sad for our country," Callender told them, "but I'm afraid it's the best thing for our cause. We have to keep ridiculing the case in the media-make Malfoy and the prosecutors office look like fools for arresting Harry in the first place."
"That reminds me," Hermione checked her watch. "I'd better get going. I have another interview in twenty minutes." In the last forty-eight hours Hermione had managed to appear on practically every British chat show on the dial, proclaiming her husband's innocence all the while diplomatically implying that Her Majesty's government-and Lucius Malfoy, M.P. in particular-had lost their collective marbles. Now it was time to have a go at North America.
"This can't be easy for you, darling," Harry said, "I know how much you loathe dealing with the press." Harry and Hermione had always struggled to keep their public and private lives separate. Until the present crisis broke, it was not generally known to the public, for example, that Hermione was pregnant.
"If I thought it would get you out of here one minute sooner," Hermione kissed him on the cheek, "I'd wrestle an alligator in my underwear."
"Crikey," Harry said with a hint of Australian accent mimicking a certain television crocodile hunter.
"I'd pay good money to see that."
Rumpole watched as Mr. and Mrs. Potter embraced. He particularly noted how reluctantly they pulled apart-as if the
separation caused them actual physical pain.
"In true love it is the soul that embraces the body,"[2] reflected Rumpole. While Harry and Hermione had obviously been drawn together as soul-mates, Rumpole often likened his own marriage to the former Hilda Wyston, a.k.a. She Who Must Be Obeyed, to being drafted into the Army. Her father, the legendary C.H. Wyston (juggler, sword-swallower, barrister to the stars, and esteemed former Head of Chambers at Number 3 Equity Court), had arranged everything. Once Rumpole had passed the physical, all he had to do was turn up at the church on time. Over the years, both Hilda and "Daddy" grew disenchanted with Rumpole's preference for criminal, as opposed to civil, law. The sordid cases and often impoverished clients would hardly elevate Rumpole to the Privy Council or support the prodigious Mr. Wyston's daughter in the manner to which she had become accustomed. But the deed was done and to a Wyston, divorce would have been an admission of defeat. As Rumpole would often quote, "A man in love is incomplete until he has married-then he's finished."[3]
"We will get you out of here, Harry," Hermione told him. Rumpole noted her tone. This was not an expression of wishful thinking or even a fervently held belief. This was a simple statement of fact.
Outside the visitors' room, Hermione gave Mr. Callender an affectionate peck on the cheek. "Give my love to Zoe and the baby."
"They send theirs as well," Alec said as he returned the kiss. "Zoe was hoping you'd come over for dinner. You know she worries about you all alone in that great big house."
"Well I certainly won't turn down an invitation to dinner, but tell Zoe that I'm not alone," Hermione said, avoiding the subject of the resident ghosts. "Ginny Weasley is staying with me until Harry comes home." Between the Callenders and the Weasleys it seemed Hermione's destiny to be surrounded by redheads.
"You're luckier than some wives," Rumpole noted as they approached the main gate, "At least you know where your husband is of an evening."
"I love my husband, Mr. Rumpole," Hermione declared, "and I refuse to raise this baby all by myself. I will do whatever it takes to bring him home and there's nothing Lucius Malfoy or the British justice system can do to stop me."
Rumpole couldn't resist a smile of admiration.
The tabloid press had never forgiven Harry for depriving them of the opportunity to mold him into the next Prince William. As far as they were concerned, the handsome young magician should have been jet-setting around the world, dating socialites and super-models, not living a quiet life of domestic bliss in the suburbs. There was much speculation in the gossip columns as to why dashing young Potter had fallen for Hermione Granger-"plain-looking", "unglamorous", and "boring" were some of the kinder words used to describe Mrs. Harry Potter when the marriage was first made public-and as to why he steadfastly refused to cheat on her. Witchcraft was even jokingly suggested in some quarters.
While Hermione may have been no Rita Haworth in the looks department, Rumpole could easily understand what the boy had seen in her. Within her petite frame was a will of iron that rivaled even She Who Must Be Obeyed. He could picture this "unglamorous" little thing loading British soldiers into a fishing boat at Dunkirk, assuming her husband's job at a munitions factory or taking charge of an air raid shelter during the London Blitz.
"A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light."[4]
She would defend her husband to the last and woe be to anyone who got in the line of fire.
********
"He was always a strange one," Vernon Dursley growled from the witness box. "Always getting into trouble. Disappearing from his classes and then reappearing on the roof of the school. Then there was the time we took our Dudley to the London Zoo. Because of him," Uncle Vernon pointed a sausage-like finger at Harry in the prisoners' dock, "A giant boa constrictor got loose and our boy ended up trapped in its cage!"
Flanked by his son, Dennis, and his son's stooges, Crabbe and Goyle, Lucius Malfoy sat in the spectator's gallery directly behind the prosecution table. To Rumpole the senior Malfoy looked like a vulture, waiting patiently for some poor animal to drop dead so he could pick at its bones.
"Thank you, Mr. Dursley. No further questions." The prosecutor, Claude Erskine-Brown sat down with a self-satisfied smirk and Rumpole, in his threadbare robes and moth eaten old wig, rose to his feet.
"Mr. Dursley? Do you consider yourself a good parent?"
"As good as the next fella, I suppose."
"And were you a good parent to Harry Potter?"
"I did my best."
"Do you and your wife love your nephew?"
"Well," Vernon said with a shrug, "He's family, isn't he?"
"Indeed."
"Are there any photographs of Harry Potter on your walls of your home, Mr. Dursley?"
"Objection." Erskine-Browne snorted from his place at the prosecution table. "Of what possible relevance-?"
"It goes to the credibility of the witness, my Lord."
"I will allow the question" Judge Featherstone declared, "subject to your demonstrating relevance, Mr. Rumpole"
"Thank you, my Lord." Rumpole returned his attention to Vernon. "Do you display any photographs of your nephew in your home, Mr. Dursley? After all, he's become a great success. His face is known around the world. Aren't you the least bit proud of his accomplishments?"
Vernon shifted uncomfortably in the witness box. "Well…"
"I can call at least a dozen witnesses," Rumpole informed him. "But let us save the taxpayers the time and effort. There are no photographs of Harry Potter on display on the walls of your home, are there, Mr. Dursley?"
"Not really."
"Do you have an album of his baby pictures?"
"No…"
"Any snapshots of his first tooth?"
"No."
"His first steps-his first day at school?"
Vernon cleared his throat. "Not exactly…."
"None?"
"No, but you see, the thing is-."
"In fact, if one were to visit your home in Little Whinging, would one find any evidence at all that any other boy resided in that house besides your son, Dudley?"
"Well, no, but you see-."
Before he could finish the sentence, Rumpole shoved a photograph into Vernon's hands. "Do you recognize this photograph, Mr. Dursley?" The bailiff was handing out duplicate photos to the jury. "The one marked 'Defense Exhibit A'?" Vernon never got the chance to answer. "This is a cupboard beneath the stairs in your front entry hall, is it not? Isn't it a fact that you forced Harry Potter to sleep in this tiny cupboard every night right up until the day he left your home?"
"Well, yes, but-"
Rumpole looked over at the jury. From their expressions, they were clearly beginning to dislike Mr. Vernon Dursley.
"The truth is that you and your wife resented your nephew's presence in your home, didn't you? You treated a helpless, innocent child as though he were some terrible burden on your family, didn't you?"
"Now look here-!"
"Mr. Dursley, did your family ever celebrate your nephew's birthday?"
Vernon's face grew redder and redder. "Er…."
Rumpole's voice was rising with each question like a revival preacher whipping up his congregation into a religious frenzy. "Did you ever take him fishing? Ever take him to the football matches? The cinema?"
"I-"
"Did you ever once show your nephew the least bit of parental affection?"
Out of the corner of his eye Rumpole could see Erskine-Brown opening his mouth to object. "The learned counsel for the defense is obviously badgering the witness, my Lord!" Well, of course I'm badgering the old walrus! Otherwise Mr. Justice Featherstone will figure out that there is no relevance to this line of questioning and I'm just trying to generate some sympathy for my client. Come on, Dursley, old sweetheart! Where's that famous temper of yours? Come on, old darling! Let's have a nice little fireworks display for the jury!
As if in answer to a prayer, Vernon exploded.
"Of course I never showed him any affection! He didn't deserve any, the ungrateful little bastard!"
Rumpole sneaked another look at the jury as Vernon continued ranting. The women in particular were eyeing him with undisguised contempt. They would then look over to Harry in the prisoner's dock, squirming in shame and humiliation as he was forced to relive his horrible childhood, and their faces were full of sympathy. They all looked as though they wanted to take Harry home and mother him.
Mr. Justice Featherstone loudly banged his gavel and chastised the witness for his uncouth behavior in court.
"I told you it was mistake to put Dursley on the stand," Erskine-Brown whispered to his co-prosecutor Sam Ballard as Rumpole cut their witness to pieces. "By the time Rumpole's through, the jury will want to convict him instead of Potter!"
The next day, Rumpole noted with some amusement that the prosecution had changed their witness list and would no longer be calling either Petunia or Dudley Dursley.
********
"Mrs. Higgins?" Erskine-Brown began, "What happened to your husband?"
"He left."
"Where did he go?"
"To Canada."
"Had he ever expressed any interest in going to Canada before?"
"No, sir."
"But after speaking to Harry Potter for two minutes, he suddenly decides to leave the country."
"I suppose that's right."
"Thank you, Mrs. Higgins."
Rumpole got to his feet.
"Mrs. Higgins? How many times were you hospitalized during the time you were married?
"Objection!"
"Overruled," said Sir Guthrie.
"Five…"
"Was your husband responsible for your injuries each time you hospitalized?"
"Yes."
"Now, when Harry Potter apparently talked your violent, abusive husband into getting out of yours and your daughter's lives and moving away to another continent, did he ever ask you for any kind of compensation?"
"No, sir."
"Did he express any interest in purchasing your immortal soul?"
"Objection!"
"Sustained," said Sir Guthrie.
"Did Mr. Potter perform any other acts of kindness on your behalf?"
"He helped me find a job-a good job too-down at the Co-Op! Alice and me, we got a real nice flat and I'm saving up for a motorcar!"
"Did Harry Potter ever ask you for anything in return?"
"He said that the best way to pay him back would be to do something for somebody else. You know, help out some other poor blighter who's in trouble."
"If this keeps up," Erskine-Brown whispered to his co-council, "I'll vote to acquit the man…"
Lucius Malfoy leaned forward and handed Erskine-Brown a note:
"Put Mrs. Potter on the stand."
Claude Erskine-Brown and "Soapy" Sam Ballard turned and looked at the Honorable Member as if he'd just suggested they both dress up like Carmen Miranda.
Malfoy simply smiled. "Trust me."
***********
"This really isn't fair to the other prisoners," Hermione pointed out as she and Harry snuggled on the sofa of Potter Manor. Harry had quietly apparated out of his prison cell and a magical doppelganger was now sleeping in his cot.
"I know, darling, but I'm only one man, after all. They're just going to have to get along without me for tonight." He felt Hermione suddenly catch her breath as her stomach muscles tensed. "Another contraction?"
"A little one." She slowly let out the breath as her muscles relaxed. "But they're still hours apart. Dr. Pomfrey and Molly both say that they could go on like this for days before the baby actually comes." Harry was clearly concerned. "Ginny will be here the whole time," she reassured him, "and Molly can apparate here at a moment's notice if anything happens."
"I'm going to be there when the baby's born," Harry declared.
"Harry-!"
"I've made up my mind. Even if I have to use magic right in front of a BBC news crew, I am going to be there when our son is born."
Hermione let out a frustrated sigh. Of course she wanted her husband by her side as she gave birth to their son, but-
There was a knock at the door.
"Mrs. Potter?" The man handed her an official looking envelope. "Sorry to bother you, luv. 'Night!"
"What is it?" Ginny's bunny slippers flopped as she came down the stairs, tying her robe. "Who was at the door?"
"It's a summons to appear in court." Hermione announced. "I'm being called as a witness-for the prosecution!"
"Malfoy…!" Harry growled.
"I don't understand." Ginny rubbed her eyes.
"He's told the prosecutors to ask questions about my past-and then they're going to realize that I don't have one-at least not on this world."
Harry grabbed his wand from the end table.
"That's it! I don't care if they put me in jail for a thousand years."
"Harry." Hermione grabbed his arm.
"I'm sorry darling," Harry said calmly, "but there are certain circumstances where it is perfectly appropriate to turn someone into an aardvark." Ginny feared that she might have to tackle Harry to keep him from leaving, but a door locking charm managed to delay him long enough for the two women to calm him down. They were still trying to come up with a workable plan as Harry returned to his cell the next morning. Hermione had a funny feeling that they might not need one.
***********
As she climbed into the witness box, Hermione didn't look well. She hadn't looked well since breakfast.
"Mrs. Potter?" Erskine-Brown began. "Where were you born?"
Hermione's face was pale and she was perspiring heavily. Suddenly she doubled over in pain.
"Hermione!" Harry cried from the prisoners' dock. He looked ready to leap out of the box, but for some reason Lucius Malfoy had insisted that he be shackled that day. It was almost as if he knew what was going to happen.
"Mrs. Potter?" asked Sir Guthrie as Hermione recovered, "Are you able to continue with your testimony?"
"Harry!" Hermione wailed, ignoring the judge, "I think it's time! My water just broke!"
"She's faking!" roared Lucius Malfoy from the spectators' gallery. He turned to the policeman guarding Harry. "You there! Keep a close eye on him! He may try and used this as a diversion to escape! If he tries anything, shoot him!"
"I must protest, my Lord!" Rumpole roared back in righteous indignation, "My client is not simply going to dash off and abandon his wife in the midst of giving birth to their first child!"
"Quite right, Mr. Rumpole!" The judge agreed. "Bailiff! Call for an ambulance at once! Officer! Release the prisoner and let him comfort his wife."
The officer fumbled for the keys to the shackles.
"Don't bother, " said Harry as he handed him the irons and leaped out of the dock.
"Nice timing, son," Hermione patted her abdomen just as another contraction hit. Witnesses to the event would later recall that Molly Weasley/Lupin bounded over the other spectators like Wonder Woman, nearly running over Harry in the process.
"It's definitely coming all right," Molly confirmed as she felt Hermione's mid-section.
"I figured that out all by myself…" Hermione grumbled through gritted teeth between contractions.
"Don't be difficult, darling," His wife's vise-like grip was causing Harry to lose the feeling in his right arm. "Molly knows more about childbirth than anyone else in England."
His wife's voice suddenly went up three octaves as the next wave hit. "I'll get you for this, Harry Potter!"
"Trust me, luv," Molly assured her, "Once you've got that beautiful baby boy in your arms this will all seem worth it."
"Would you like to make a small wager on that?" Hermione was huffing and puffing like a marathon runner as her muscles momentarily relaxed.
Moments later the ambulance arrived, but as Harry started to follow Hermione out of the courtroom, two policemen grabbed his arms.
"Now just a minute!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter," one of the officers apologized, "but orders is orders."
"MALFOY!!" Only the fact that they were surrounded by dozens of onlookers saved Lucius Malfoy from spending the rest of his life as a small furry animal.
As he climbed down from the bench, Judge Featherstone noted the smug smile of satisfaction on Lucius Malfoy's face as Harry was dragged back down to the cells.
"There was no reason why the lad couldn't have accompanied his wife to the hospital under guard."
"There is a perfectly good reason, Sir Guthrie. I did not wish it."
"I don't know what your quarrel is with Harry Potter, Malfoy, but I am not used to having other people giving orders in my courtroom-and when we are in my courtroom, you will kindly address me by my proper title."
"If your Lordship pleases." Malfoy's voice dripped with sarcasm. "But just remember how easily that title could be taken away if I please."
*********
"He's taking it better that I would have," remarked one of the policemen assigned to guard Harry's cell. "If it was my missus having a baby, I'd be bouncing off the walls." Harry's doppelganger slept soundly on his cot.
*********
The real Harry appeared in the Maternity Ward of Charing Cross Hospital. Fortunately, he was wearing what Hermione referred to as his "Clark Kent" spectacles, which had rectangular frames instead of his trademark round ones. Like most people, Harry had never particularly believed that a pair of glasses could be that much of a disguise, but it turned out to be just enough to confuse people. They still thought they recognized his face, but they could never quite remember where they'd seen him before.
"ABOUT BLOODY TIME TOO, POTTER!" Hermione yelled from the bed of the birthing room as Harry poked his head in the door.
"Harry!" Dr. Pomfrey gasped. "I'd heard they wouldn't let you out of jail for the birth."
"They didn't." Harry put a finger to his lips.
"Won't you get in trouble for being here?" she asked.
"Not nearly as much trouble as I'd be in if I weren't here." Harry told her. One of the nurses moved aside as Harry took hold of his wife's hand.
"Forget everything I said before, Harry. I'm glad you're here."
********
"He looks just like his father!" Molly exclaimed. "All he needs is a little pair of spectacles." Molly turned to Dr. Pomfrey who was writing down the results of her examination on Hermione's chart. "So, what's the verdict, then?"
"Mrs. Potter," the doctor said, ignoring Molly, "your son is as healthy as the proverbial horse." The physician and the midwife didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things, but perhaps because of their shared affection for the Potters, when the time came the two worked together as if they had always been a team. (Though Molly had no qualms about pointing out where she thought the doctor had made mistakes.) Both Molly and Dr. Pomfrey had lost count of how many children they had helped bring into this world, but they both couldn't help getting a little dewy-eyed on this particular occasion. Few couples adored each other as much as the Potters, and fewer still seemed so ideally suited to parenthood.
As Dr. Pomfrey handed Hermione Potter her newborn son, it was as though she were looking at her husband's baby pictures, right down to the tiny mop of unruly black hair that covered the boy's head. He even had his father's green eyes. It seems that Molly was right after all. Exhausted, sore, and covered with perspiration, Hermione had never been so happy in her entire life.
"He's beautiful, Harry," she sobbed with joy.
"Almost as beautiful as his mother." Harry said as he kissed her on the cheek.
The telepathic contact Hermione had shared with her son while he was in her womb was somewhat lessened now that he had been born, but holding him in her arms, she could still sense his emotions. He was tired and sore from the ordeal of birth, from being encouraged to cry in order to clear his tiny lungs, and he was confused by the poking and prodding he'd received from Dr. Pomfrey. He recognized some of the other faces in the room from the times his mother had let him see the outside world through her eyes. There were "Aunt Ginny" and "Aunt Victoria", the silly one known as "Uncle Ron" and the jolly round one with the warm smile called "Grandma Molly" who loved to sing songs and tell stories. He was sure that he could get to like her. Most important of all, there were the ones he'd come to know as "Mommy" and "Daddy". Just knowing that they were near made him feel warm and safe. The outside world was a strange and frightening place, but it was nice to know that he had friends here.
********
"How does it feel, Dad?" Ron asked softy as Harry held his son for the first time.
"A little overwhelming," Harry said. "It's not every day somebody hands you a brand new life and says 'Here, don't screw it up'."
"You'll do fine." Ron patted him on the shoulder. "Just remember that it's no sin to ask for help if you need it. As far as Mum and the rest of us are concerned, you three were already family."
"Speaking of which… Ron…? We've been meaning to ask you and Victoria… That is… If-God forbid-something should happen to Hermione and me…"
"Did you even have to ask?" Ron put his arm around his friend's shoulders. "As long as there is breath in my body, this little fellow won't end up living in a cupboard under the Dursley's stairs."
"That goes for all of us, Harry." Molly said.
"Of course," Ron grinned, "we might have to dye his hair red and paint freckles on him, so he won't feel out of place."
Harry Potter lifted his glasses long enough to dab a tear out of his eye, then looked up at the beaming faces that surrounded him. After all the years of misery with the Dursleys, Harry never believed himself capable of experiencing such joy. It was almost as if the bad times had never happened. At last he had the loving family that he'd always dreamed of. The only thing missing were the baby's grandparents-and yet, Harry suspected that somehow they were here too.
"So, what about a name, you two?" demanded Ginny. "He can't go through life being called 'Oy, Mate!'"
"We'd already agreed," Hermione, told them, "that if it was a girl, we'd name her after my mother and if it was a boy, we'd name him after Harry's father. We also agreed on one other person we wanted to name him after… How does 'James Ronald Potter' grab you?"
"A pity," came a gravelly voice from the doorway. "I've always thought the name 'Horace' had a rather dignified ring to it." Mr. Rumpole swept into the room carrying an enormous bouquet of flowers for the new mother, a Paddington Bear for the baby, and a bottle of "Château Thames Embankment" from Pommeroy's Wine Bar with which to toast the parents' good health. Everyone thought he was going to drop his entire load when he saw his client standing in front of him holding his newborn son instead of back in his cell at Newgate Prison. No matter how brilliant an escape artist Harry was, there was no way, short of magic, that Harry could've beat Rumpole to the hospital given the traffic in downtown London at that time of day. "Well," Rumpole said with some astonishment, "Who's been a naughty boy, then?"
End of Chapter Six
[1] Matthew 19:14
[2] Anon.
[3] Zsa Zsa Gabor.
[4] William Wordsworth